"Nobody gives a shit about organic damage," he says while picking at his food. With his too-starched shirt, one shrug of a broad shoulder makes him look momentarily like a wrinkled giant. "You die here, you pop right back. It's like they're all meths, but... they're not. Bad teeth, bad hair..."

He shakes his head before he remembers possibly the strangest thing he's come across. "Watch out for a guy calling himself... Warren Kepler."

It takes a moment to remember. The personality left a stronger impression than the name.

"Only motherfucker I ever known not to flinch at being called a jackboot. Took it in fucking stride. Some kind of military recruiter, private sector specialist. I've known motherfuckers like that. Nothing behind their goddamn eyes."